


Even My Phone Misses Your Call, By The Way

by Theincrediblesulkmachine



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Army Doctor! Shiro, Arts & crafts teacher! Lance, Build up, Business Mogul! Pidge, Chef! Hunk, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Falling In Love, Fics running away with me, Fluff and Humor, Friendship/Love, Habitually, Heartbreak, Hunk is a cinnamon roll, I hope, I'll get to the tags eventually i promise, Im trying atleast, Inspired by Love Rosie, Inspired by the Parent Trap, Kid Fic, Kinda, Light Angst, Loneliness, M/M, Mattashi, Miro, Missed Opportunities, Misunderstandings, Multi, Near-misses, Nostalgia, Original child character- Juniper, Passage of time, Probably going to be the cheesiest thing i'll write, School Shadow! Shiro, Shiro is trying his patience, Singer! Allura, Tags may change?, The Parent Trap AU, Writer! Keith, but atleast i try, dunno how to tag without giving away shit, future relationship (s)?, i'm trying to write lighter stuff, kallura, keith is TRYING, mostly failing, narrators, not gonna follow the plot line exactly, pance, past relationship, pidgance, plance, preemptive tagging, stress relief fic, tangents, think of it as more inspired than an AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-30
Updated: 2018-06-07
Packaged: 2019-02-04 00:50:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12759717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theincrediblesulkmachine/pseuds/Theincrediblesulkmachine
Summary: Maybe Allura and Keith were fated to forever be at tangents; meeting just once in a moment made up of bliss- the stuff of dreams, of fireworks- then cursed to inevitably drift apart and away to their lonely infinities. Maybe they were shooting stars, ephemeral and fleeting, doomed to follow eternally divergent paths. Maybe they were the Moon and the Sun, burning, flaming entities that could coincide, if temporarily, but never meant to last; the love that needed to die, to allow the other its life-giving breath.Or maybe, they were stronger than that. Maybe despite all they had lost, and all that they had gained, they could persist.***Alternatively,the situational retelling thatvery vaguelyfollows the themes of Love Rosie/ the Parent Trap without bothering to be particularly accurate to either.





	1. Prologue: The Uncomfortable Reunion

**Author's Note:**

> So, i have no self control in churning out these AU's, but to be fair life's been pretty busy. If you're some of the lovely people patiently waiting on my other WIP's, i swear, i'm working on them and have not abandoned you.
> 
> I just needed some lighter writing, something i needed to be maybe less consciously aware of plotwise. I don't do well in keeping things light, so bear with me, i'm trying. This thing crawled out of a marathon re-watch of some iconic chick flicks: Love Rosie, The Parent Trap and the general hilarity of watching something like She's the Man (and also maybe Jane the Virgin). Give them a watch if you haven't seen any of these.
> 
> I had an urge, and this came out of it. Having said that, these influences are probably a loose guideline of what is to come. This will not be canon compliant in any of the verses and neither will it be a main WIP, until i finish with my older children, and as i also have several unpublished works in the (well) works _[one i'm super excited about is a Sheith Actor AU which is shaping up to be ridiculous but kinda cute]_ , as well as life changing events hurtling in at the speed of light, i don't know how much time i'll be able to dedicate to this, but i'll definitely get through it.
> 
> Take it all with a grain of salt, feel free to gush or con-crit. (Pls, lol) Your feedback and comments make my day, and inspire me to keep on keeping on. i know this is short, but its essentially a prologue to test how much i even want to write/share this. More soon hopefully.
> 
> Title from [Harry Styles- From the Dining Table.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1ZxF_nA1SxQ&list=PLvGP_Hnd7zRGQFirXFZotfx-tvxZL-BfI&index=10)

* * *

_I guess you could say it all comes down to circumstance._

_There was a moment where everything was perfect, just instants before it all fell apart; before it fell together again._

_We’ve all seen this, we all_ know _this; some having suffered in more excruciating detail than others…_

_Misunderstandings and near misses are the worst, am I right?_

* * *

**[Friday 7:15 pm; The Uncomfortable Reunion]**

The knock on the door comes earlier than anticipated, but luckily Allura has always erred on this side of too-punctual.

She smoothes down her dress, a strappy black affair she had gone shopping with Lance for- the expression on his face when she had suggested indecision in purchasing it had been pure, _horrified_ disbelief- and takes a quick peek at herself in the mirror.

Allura only sighs at the volume of her hair, and while she does love her mane, she occasionally wishes it was less… animated, and hence less likely to need four other people to tame it; there’s nothing to be done about that however, so she just takes in a deep restorative breath, and opens the door with her best, pleased smile.

“Matt?” If her tone of voice turns out weakly quizzical, and utterly aghast, it’s merely because she _is_.

She cannot be faulted.

It isn’t Matt; it’s a ghost- if they could age and grow impossibly more handsome. Allura can feel her smile crumbling to ash, propelled to a moment years away from this one.

 _He_ looks different; taller, broader in the shoulder. He stands straight, dressed in a crisp white button-down, untucked as it is around well-fitting black jeans. His hair is neat, still falling into his eyes with preternatural grace, but otherwise short, and shorn at the sides.

It jars Allura more than it should.

She considers dashing back inside, to the comfort of her three-bedroom, and shutting the door on his face, but Allura is composed of stronger stuff, and refuses to flee- no matter how desperately she wants to not have to deal with this.

“Afraid not.” His voice when he speaks is dry, and uninflected, but his iris-hued gaze remains the same; _intense_.

“What _are_ you doing here?” her voice shakes, and Allura feels pinned in place; suspended by that all-too-familiar consuming sensation that his attention has always been, and she hates it.

“You were not expecting me.” He says, and strangely, his voice is surprised, as he looks away uncomfortably; his jaw clenches microscopically, mouth working in visibly failing attempts to be flattened into neutrality.

(Which thank the heavens, because Allura can’t be the only one feeling blindsided- to put it mildly.)

“What was your first clue?” she says, a little snappier than she intends, but he had always brought that out in her. Allura crosses her arms defensively across her chest, suddenly feeling far too vulnerable in her too-pretty dress.

He swallows, and instead of rising to the bait like he would have, like she expects him to do, he noticeably reins himself in, looking down at his- _really nice black suede-_ shoes.

(Yes, well, maybe Allura does have a weakness for nice shoes; _none of your business, thank you very much._ )

When he raises his head again, his expression is blank despite the uneven brightness to his eyes. “My mistake.” He says pleasantly, quietly; flashing a pointed smile that etches the barest hint of the dimple she _knows_ belongs to his left cheek, and her chest suddenly hurts; the shock wearing away to a much more recognizable devastation of emotion.

 _Loss_.

Five years later, one markedly changed Keith Kogane walks away from her door, in much the same way as he had before; never looking back.

Five years later, Allura watches him leave, existing in that same maelstrom of sentiment; fury, confusion and pangs of nostalgia threading together into a wistful sorrow.

 

* * *

_I thought this was supposed to be a happily ever after kind of story, you say?_

_How_ did _this happen, you ask?_

_Get to the good part, you demand?_

_Well, by and large, everyone who matters accounts it to three separate incidents…Allow me to catch you up..._

* * *

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything that can go wrong, will go wrong; especially if your name is Keith Kogane.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, i had so much fun writing this. Sorry it's been a while, huh. This is my mostly for fun/ stress-relief fic so it wasn't supposed to be all that regular but still, this took a bit longer than i anticipated.
> 
> I don't really have much to say, except that this is a build up and i'm kind of proud of myself and i hope you enjoy it too. 
> 
> Love you guys, hope you have an awesome day <3

* * *

 

** [Events Leading Up To the Uncomfortable Reunion:  **

** Number One] **

The shrill ringing is what wakes him from an uncomfortable nap on his couch; head jerking up from his stilted slump into the armrest, the journal- pen and all the scraps of paper in between- from his lap, clattering to the ground.

“Shiro?” Keith’s voice is little more than a rasp when he picks up, the makings of desperate panic shading it.

He can’t make it sound otherwise.

“I’m okay,” Shiro rushes out quickly, as if only just realizing what the time will make it look like; a remnant of a very different time when Shiro hadn’t been the one who had called.

“ _I’m okay_.” He says and Keith can feel the breath returning to his lungs.

Keith drops his head into his hands and just breathes.

“Sorry to call you so late; early?” Shiro says softly, apologetic as his brain catches him on the technicalities. “It’s not quite… that urgent.” He says, and it’s obvious that he left out the word _emergency_ for Keith’s sanity.

_Shiro’s okay, he’s not hurt; he’s okay._ Keith reminds himself, the mantra his way of force-stopping his heart from beating its mile a minute tempo. “You- you know you can call whenever, Shiro.” The sound accompanying his name is the blend of a sigh, a yawn, and a huff of the leftover dread that had roused him.

 (Shiro likes to rib him for the feline nature of these sounds- he maintains that Keith is growing more and more like Red by the passing minute; Keith just swats at him, which is only more proof in Shiro’s eyes.

Keith doesn’t mention that the laugh his world-weary friend lets out in response to these exchanges is most of the reason why he didn’t instantly curb the habit.)

"You’ll feel less kindly towards me once I get to the why’s.” Shiro says wryly.

Keith manages to shake off the last of his slumber at that, wariness creeping in as he sits up, idly scratching his neck. “What do you need…?”

“Uh… I _maybe_ , might need someone to cover for me tomorrow?” The laugh Shiro lets out is sheepish, abashed but still not above being amused.

“ _Shiro_.” Keith groans, pressing his forefinger and thumb into the bridge of his nose, as if that’ll change the words his oldest friend is saying. “ _no._ ”

“I’ve already talked to everyone else; they’re all _busy_.”

“What about _Pidge_?” Keith _pleads_ , and no, there’s really no other word for the tone that paints his voice.

He is not even ashamed.

“Pidge isn’t exactly, ah… _suited_ for this.” Shiro says mildly.

“And _I am_??” Keith is a little too horrified to properly deliver the scoff that statement deserves. “I wouldn’t even _know_ where to begin- y- _you know that!”_ he stammers out in pure anxiety.

“Please _, Keith.”_ Shiro says, and it’s unfair how his puppy-dog pout translates into a no-visual phone call. “ _Please_?”

Keith can picture all too well, the widening grey, the slight piteous jut to his- _way too old for this shit_ \- friend’s mouth.  The way somehow, without fail, those eyes bring to mind all the things Shiro’s done for Keith over the years; the ways he’s stood by his side.

 (Even when Keith was a rebellious piece of shit determined to watch everything burn; himself along with it, in the brand of self-preserving-self-deprivation that was practically his patent)

 “Ugh, I _hate_ you.” Keith says, tangling a hand in his too-long hair, and just like that Shiro knows he’s won.

“Thank you, _thank you_ Keith.” Shiro says gratefully, even as he has the audacity to laugh with real mirth. “I swear,” _laugh,_ “you’re a,” _laugh_ , “lifesaver.”

It’s unfair how the man can be such a shit, but such a _sincere_ shit that Keith can’t even hold it against him.

(Or tell anyone, ‘cause let’s face it; Who’d believe _him_?)                                                          

“I hate you.” Keith repeats with no real heat, as he resigns himself to a very long day.

There’s a beat of silence, before Shiro starts laughing again, gasping out something that sounds an awful lot like _Mister Kogane_ between breaths.

“I’m hanging up.” Keith says, prepared to do just that.

“Wait wait _wait.”_ Shiro says instantly ceasing his laughter, and Keith, foolish man that he is _does_ , because he loves the guy (and hates himself) far too much.

“Ehe… it’s not _just_ for tomorrow?” Shiro ends up asking, sheepish.

“ _Shiro_.” Keith’s voice is a warning, a plea and all the in-betweens he’s too tired to conceal.

“ _It’sforthisweek_.” Shiro rushes out, then tries to sweeten the deal. “I’ll come pick you up tomorrow and brief you and everything. You’re going to do great, I know it.”

“Takashi.” Now, _finally_ , Keith sounds _mad_ like he was trying for all along, and he can tell the second Shiro picks up on it.

“Keith, I’m _sorry_. Really I am.” He says, sounding truly apologetic, snideness disappearing in the face of the horror that he might actually have inconvenienced someone on his behalf. “I really wouldn’t ask-”

“Shut up.” Keith interrupts, but not actually unkindly, because he might be an asshole but never to Shiro. “I’ll do it.”

“You’re not even going to ask why?” Shiro says, a little suspicious now.

Keith yawns at him, and hangs up with zero remorse in response.

* * *

 

** [Events Leading Up To the Uncomfortable Reunion:  **

** Number Two] **

The day is off to a superb start, really.

Keith oversleeps, to begin with; which _never_ happens. He’s one of those people with a biological clock that has him up with the sun (or whenever a task needs doing) regardless of when he sleeps- or if he even does.

(Being in a less-than-foul mood in mornings is still beyond him)

Still, he sleeps in, having stayed up most of the night trying to jot down his ideas before they escape him and is swatted awake by Red- his Bengal cat- with the oddest sense of urgency.

A glance at the clock tells him he has five minutes before Shiro arrives to pick him up.

“ _Fuck_.” Is the first emphatic thought in Keith’s head, and he then proceeds to hit said head on the bedframe, and later, the floor when he trips on leg-entangled sheets; all while Red watches, highly unamused, as she meticulously cleans her face with one paw.

He’s only half dressed, toothbrush still stuffed in his mouth, when the bell- following the theme Murphy’s adage sets- rings.

_Everything that can go wrong, will go wrong;_ especially _if your name is Keith Kogane._

“Fuck you, Shiro.” He mumbles around the toothbrush as he quickly spits and rinses, and pulls on the first shirt his desperate grab into his dresser yields.

Keith uses the perpetual band on his wrist to collect his hair into a ponytail on the way to the door, trips over Red, who promptly rewards him by biting his ankle, and the result is that he plows face-first into the door.

He yanks open the door with more rage than required of him, if Shiro’s expression is anything to go on; Takashi has both eyebrows raised, face schooled into mild surprise, as he gives Keith a once-over.

All from the doorway.

“Atleast come inside before giving me that much judgment.” Keith growls.

Shiro does so, looking a little perplexed. “Why aren’t you ready?” he asks.

Keith raises an eyebrow, and waits.

“Is _that_ what you’re-” Shiro starts, and then seems to reconsider commenting on his attire.

“Yes.” Keith says mutinously, crossing his arms as he stalwartly refuses to look down and see if his shirt is inside out.

(At this point Keith really does want to know whether his shirt is on backwards, but his pride won’t allow him.)

Shiro’s mouth twitches, but bless him, he manages to not laugh, and merely extends the to-go coffee cup he’s holding to Keith.

Keith takes the cup and gulps at the scalding liquid before the appropriate warnings can be issued.

Shiro simply sighs at the ensuing filthy curse. “Shoes?”

Keith glances, and sure enough, he’s barefoot. He groans, more theatric than he ever is after noon- earlier than which no decent (self-employed) human being would be up.

He wordlessly takes his burnt tongue and bruised ego along to rifle through the tangle of his bedsheets, while Shiro valiantly does no more than snicker. He pulls on his socks before his boots- he’s not a complete monster- narrowly missing spilling his coffee over them, and stands feeling like he should be creaking.

Shiro’s back is turned to him, as he stands, very still, at Keith’s beat up, but unnaturally comfortable plush sofa. Red perches upon it, looking regally down upon him.

Neither of them move, transfixed on whatever it is that they’re doing.

(Keith considers sneaking up on him to figure out why he seems to be zoned out, but morning-Keith is a lazy asshole, and he can’t find a fuck to give; it’s Shiro, there’s nothing about Keith’s shit life that he doesn’t already know)

“Shiro?” Keith hedges instead, still suspicious. “ _Why_ are you just standing there?”         

Shiro turns to him almost instantly, smoothing down his completely unwrinkled semi-formal blazer.

Yeah, not weird _at all_.

What fucking ever; can’t be worse than what he (un)willingly signed off on.

_(Famous last words.)_

Keith narrows his eyes at him till Shiro says, unwarrantedly flustered, “I should be asking you that.” In lieu of responding, Shiro gives him a slightly bemused once-over again, and Keith refrains from rolling his eyes too hard as he takes another swig of the hellishly hot drink, opting to just stare Shiro down.

Shiro gives in, muttering something- probably decidedly unflattering about Keith under his breath- and pulls out his keys.

They leave.

* * *

 

What Keith dismounts into, is even worse than the chaos of his morning.

That in itself says _a lot_.

He grumbles, as he waves goodbye to Shiro, but can’t begrudge him; Great opportunities and all that crap.

God knows, the guy deserves any and all the good coming his way.

Keith grapples with the huge-ass folder Shiro had handed him, one hand still nursing the toxic hell-coffee, trying to look like he has a legitimate reason for being at an _elementary school_ at all places.

(He’s failing miserably.)

Four separate kids have pointed at Keith, mouths gaping, and their parents rapidly ushering them away does nothing to improve his steadily souring mood.

Two kids bounce off his legs, and promptly begin to cry, and he’s garnering attention like there’s no tomorrow.

_What the_ fuck _was Shiro thinking?_ Keith takes back all the nice things he’s ever thought about Takashi, as he tries to pick his way through the throngs of tiny monsters to the entranceway; Shiro is a piece of shit.

Keith’s situation takes literally no time to worsen; as he attempts to orient himself to the correct classroom, he gets stopped by a tiny man in a sweater vest and khakis, whose amount of self-importance is rivaled only by the magnitude of his pot belly.

“Halt, hooligan!!” he says loudly enough that Keith cringes, and barely resists kneeing him in the face.

( _Aren’t you proud, Shiro?_ He thinks bitterly, before silently cussing out his best friend some more)

“I’m not a _hooligan.”_ Keith snaps before he can think better of it.

“That’s exactly what a hooligan would say!” Little Man exclaims, raising his eyebrows almost frighteningly high. They disappear into his hairline, and Keith gapes at them momentarily, before shaking himself out of it.

This is why he actively opts out of mornings.

“What do you want, little man?” Keith grumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose, reining his temper in forcibly, reminding himself that losing it would reflect badly on Shiro.

“Little... man?!” he sputters, belly growing four sizes in indignation. “I’ll have you know I’m the top pick for Chief of Security thanks to the Headmaster Zarkon himself.”

Keith kind of wants to cry.

“Little man.” Keith says slowly, intentionally abrasive in a way he hasn’t been in a while, “Tell me. What. You. Want.”

“MY NAME IS VARKON.” He near screams, and puffs up before he says, “You are not allowed to be on these premises, shifty-looking stranger!”

Keith is tempted to pick him up, and throw him far- far- away from himself.

Keith sighs. “I’m substituting for Takashi Shirogane for this week.” He says, lifting the lanyard languidly from where it’s clipped to his belt buckle.

“A likely story.” Varkon crosses his arms. “I refuse to believe Shirogane associates with ruffians of _your_ kind.” He sniffs haughtily through his pug nose- which is an intense accomplishment by itself. “Have you looked at yourself in the mirror, you twitchy little thug? There’s even evidence of your misdeeds on your hands!”

“Wha-?” Keith sputters and glances down, at ink-stained hands. “It’s just ink!” he exclaims, annoyed.

“Ha! I won’t be fooled by you!” Varkon yells, and that’s about all that Keith can take.

Keith is not too proud to admit that he takes two threatening steps towards Varkon, with the full intention of throttling him. It is, however, deeply satisfying that Varkon skitters back by reflex.

So all and all, it’s a welcome interruption when a lean Hispanic man lopes over, and stops Varkon _short_ in his tracks.

(Keith may or may not have snickered at the unintentional pun; he’s not above being petty before noon)

“Hey, hey. What’s goin’ on here?” He says, fixing beady blue eyes on Keith. He also rests his elbow casually on Varkon’s head, going so far as to double over for the cause, so Keith is inclined to like him.

“This gangster wannabe is trying to break in, probably to kidnap the children!” Varkon wails.

Keith throws his hands to the skies- frustrated- and glares at the overhang shading the foyer; only very narrowly managing not to scream.

The Hispanic man grins wide. “You wouldn’t happen to be _Keith Kogane_ by any chance?”

“Fucking hell.” Keith says, before he catches sight of a four year old gaping at him. “I mean- uh- _ducking_ _bells_ \- yes, that’s me.” A half-hearted scratch at his neck.

Yeah, Keith was a true example of a functional adult.

“…bad influence and lies.” Varkon mumbles.

‘Speak _up_ , Little Man.” Keith grits through grinding teeth, embarrassment aiding his anger, and his eyes flash appropriately intimidating.

Varkon _meeps_ , and the Latino continues laughing the way he has been since _ducking bells_. “How about I handle it from here, huh _Varkie_?”

Varkon bristles but nods, self-importance resurging. “Might as well, I do have much more crucial tasks to oversee than this” Keith glares at him and the insult comes out in an undertone as he scuttles snootily away. “… _lout_.”

“Nice to meet you, Edward Elric.” He snorts, extending a tan hand Keith’s way. “I’m Lance.”

Keith takes it, ignoring the sly jab- Shiro’s used that one on him too many times for it to be effective- still fuming. “Who set that Shih Tzu on me?”

Lance laughs, “I’d say that’s on you, dude; I know it’s called being a _shadow,_ but you didn’t have to literally dress as one…” The end of the sentence is accompanied by jazz hands, as he pointedly looks over Keith’s black leather jacket, the black tank visible underneath- a fiery orange For (Fox) Sake emblazoned across its front; well-fitting black jeans and- surprise surprise- black combat boots.

(To which all Keith can say is that the shirt was Pidge’s doing, and that at least no one can tell that the tank is a clingy as fuck racerback.

Screw mornings, honestly.)

Keith wonders not for the first time what he’s signed up for, exhales very noisily. “Where’s the f-” openly amused glance from Lance. “…fishing classroom?” he ends on.

“Intriguing vocabulary.” Lance snickers, “I finally get what Shiro’s been saying.”

Keith prays his kid isn’t an entire nightmare… or anything like Lance. His fraying patience won’t be able to take this.

“Come on,” Lance visibly takes pity on him. “I’ll prevent Varkie a heart attack and escort you.”

“Yeah, okay.” Keith says uncharitably, but Lance only seems to grow more amused.

“I changed my mind.” Lance says gleefully, apropos of nothing. “You’re not Ed, you’re- whats the name of that hot, scary as fuck Xingese ninja girl- Fan Lee? Lin fang?”

Keith gives him a dubious look and opts- probably wisely- to stay quiet.

“Lan Fan!” Lance exclaims, and dabs.

A real life non-ironic _dab_.

Someone please kill Keith; put him out of his misery.

_Please_.

“Hey, hey Keith.” Lance, unperturbed at his silence, interjects Keith’s internalized plea for help, continuing without need for affirmation. “Does that make Shiro your _Ling Yao_?” This ridiculous statement is accompanied by a ridiculous waggle of his eyebrows and a loud snicker.

Keith groans as he realizes just why Shiro is so fond of this Lance he kept hearing about; he’s just as terrible as Shiro pretends _not_ to be.

* * *

 

Essentially, Keith’s the last one there; he’s reminded of sneaking into college classes except there no one really cared save that one over-eager professor whose classes Keith just never showed up to.

(Keith just couldn’t stand being nagged at.)

Here he’s eyeballed by fifteen or so preschoolers, and their Home Ec teacher; all of whom maintain a very impressive level of judgement on their faces.

“Mr. Huuuuunk, is he a ninja?” one little girl, dark haired and dark-eyed, stage-whispers to the Samoan man standing upfront.

He’s a big guy, who honest to god looks like the living embodiment of a gentle giant. Somehow his big doe eyes gleam with kindness and compassion even twenty something feet away.

Caught in the sunlight, he seems like a big warm angel in a cooking apron.

He looks like he was meant to be an elementary teacher… Keith very visibly does not.

“Ninja-man has a pony!” one very strawberry blond boy harrumphs, and damn, Keith didn’t even know kids this small could be _that_ condescending. “My momma says only girls have those.”

(Keith side-eyes the brat who says that; one guess who has a great career in bullying written in his future.)

Mr, Hunk, make the ninja man do the _sorry-I’m-late-dance!_ ”

Keith pales at that one, and some kid he can’t pinpoint cackles in delight. “ _Look at Ninja-man’s face.”_

Yeah, Keith wants the ground to swallow him up and spit him back out _anywhere else_ ; preferably his bed but really _anywhere_ will do.

“Alright, alright; enough of that, kids!” Hunk chuckles as if he can’t help himself, but the kids hush well enough. “Keith Kogane, right?”

“Yeah.” He mumbles, before repeating clearer. “Yeah. Sorry I’m late; got held up.”

“No worries. Junie, why don’t you raise your hand so Mr. Kogane can find you?”

Keith looks around; no one has their hand raised.

Typical.

He’s reminded of being in elementary school; that one kid who always got picked last for teams… Keith hadn’t really experienced it then, so it figures that life decides to bite him in the ass some fifteen years later

“ _Junie_.” Hunk sounds disappointed, and the expression is so potent that even Keith wants to apologize profusely… the kid he’s relieving Shiro of for the week, however, is apparently a tough-ass cookie; not so much of a peep out of her.

He follows Hunk’s line of sight to what is probably Junie but to him just seems like a mop of dark, wildly curling hair against the window. She huffs, and Keith has the distinct pleasure of watching those curls defy gravity in a truly impressive manner; an elfin sand-skinned girl emerges from within the shoulder length bramble, all sapphire eyes and the most unimpressed look this side of the planet has ever seen.

Something about that expression strikes a chord, and he almost wants to smile through the slight.

_Remember what Shiro said,_ Keith reminds himself, trying not to take it personally. _She’s a tough nut to crack. She can be temperamental- much like someone else we know,_ Shiro had added with a smirk that Keith had to smack off his face- _and you’ll probably have to earn her trust._

_God,_ Keith wished he’d read all of the notes Shiro had probably provided him with in that massive folder. They were probably full of helpful insights and tricks of the trade.

What did _shadows_ even really do?

Keith finds himself passively panicking as he picks his way over tiny legs, to head over to Junie, and stops, more than a reasonable amount of awkward.

Why did Shiro think this was a good idea again?

_Don’t worry. You got this._

Why did everything sound more reasonable in Shiro’s calm voice?

“Hey,” he hedges, trying to emulate that faith Shiro has always (inexplicably) had in him. “You must be Junie.”

_What a world class starter, Kogane._

Junie looks like she’s thinking something along the same lines; Keith tries not to deflate completely under the hard sapphire gaze.

“My name is Juniper.” She says, after a measured beat, more primly than her appearance suggested her capable of. “Only friends may call me Junie.”

Her voice is crystal clear, accented, and very _very_ sure of herself.

(Surer than Keith is at even twenty four.)

_Well_ , Keith thinks… _at least she knows what she wants and it’s definitely not me._

“Okay, _Juniper_. I’m Keith.”

Juniper gives him a scathing once-over, eyeing him from the ponytail to his combats, and cuts straight to the chase in one clipped question. “Why are you here?”

Keith winces before he can help it. “Shiro had to head out of the city; he has an interview.”

Juniper seems to consider this answer, brows furrowing. “Why are _you_ here?” she repeats, crossing her arms firmly.

Keith himself doesn’t know why. He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose sharply.

Kids are seriously the worst critics.

Not for the first time, a small part of Keith wants to cry.

He soldiers through the emotion like he does most everything else, and sticks to the blunt honesty he delivers best. “I’m here ‘cause I’m Takashi’s friend and he needed a favour. So you’re stuck with me.”

Her lip wobbles suddenly, before she narrows her eyes in a concentrated effort to conceal the vulnerability; and boy does Keith know that feeling. “ _Whatever_.”

Keith may well have patented it… and he doesn’t want this tiny spit-fire to deal with it on her own.

“Are you okay?” he prompts, gently, instinctively knowing she’ll lash out, but wanting to help.

And _boy_ , does she. “It’s none of _your_ business.” She says haughty in a way that’s only emphasized by her accent.

“I’m only trying to help.” Keith says, after a pause, because he almost can’t help his instinctual defensiveness.

“I DON’T WANT YOUR HELP!!” Juniper positively screams. “I DON’T EVEN WANT YOU HERE.” She huffs, hair sparking to twice its usual volume in crossness. “I WANT… Mr. Shiro.”

The name seems to break something, and her voice falters to an almost hush… and a literal hush as the entire class turns to gawk at her.

And Keith will never admit this folly to anyone, least of all Pidge, but his first thought upon hearing those words was **_Mood._**

Second was the- only somewhat- less humiliating realization that Keith knew _exactly_ how this kid was feeling. After a certain point in his life, when everything had been free-falling out of control, he had gotten Shiro and Takashi… well, he had seemed to be the magic salve to heal- or at least help scab over- Keith’s wounds.

Life had been on the up and up again- after a very long time… and then Shiro had no longer been there.

Hadn’t been able.

Keith flinches at that memory, and forcibly jerks himself out of it.

Essentially, it hadn’t taken much for everything to spiral from there on out either.

This kid- Juniper- might not have the situation quite as dire, but then she was four years old…and clearly she, too, had needed Shiro when he came to her.

Untroubled children hardly need _shadows_ after all- what need would any run-of-the-mill kid have for an entire day of support from a stranger just to maintain attention, and police their disruptive behaviors and interaction?

Kids were flexible though, they bounced back… and well, for once in his god-damned life Keith knew what the situation was like… could understand the context and relate.

For once, he had the words to _say_ , and not just have them reverberating in his head days, months, _years_ later begging to be let out, _written_.

For once, he knew what to say… and he did. “Juniper,” he said softly, quietly. “Shiro isn’t gone. He wouldn’t leave you alone like that.”

Juniper flushes, both at the unceasing attention of her classmates- Hunk trying desperately to regain their focus by an impromptu switch in class schedules and the lure of baking cookies- and his words.

Emboldened by the success, Keith gives her a small smile, hoping for encouragement. “He’ll be back for you, I promise.”

“How do you know that?” Juniper mumbles finally, hopping from one sneaker-clad foot to the other, decidedly not looking at Keith.

(Keith didn’t even know they made converse that size, and it’s oddly… cute.)

“He did for me.” He keeps his eyes on Juniper, until she raises her head determinedly and meets his gaze.

Juniper swallows, seeming to struggle under the weight of her emotions, and sits down heavily, tears beginning to well up in those enormous eyes. “You promise he won’t leave me too?”

_Too,_ and the word and the tears resound awfully heavy in Keith’s heart, and he wants to fix it more than he’s ever wanted anything else.

“I _promise_.” He says, soft and sure, kneeling beside her so that he can be at eye-level.

Juniper smiles, and it etches dimples in her cheeks, and she looks _lovely_ for the first time. Cherubic- if slightly too wild to be angelic- curls, and golden skin and midnight blue eyes.

Keith smiles back, and thinks, _yeah_ , he can do this.

Of course, the world has never passed up the chance to tell Keith to _Fuck Off_ (capitalization intended), and so that same snot-nosed strawberry blonde chooses this moment to pipe up, very _very_ clearly. “Juniper is CRYING.” It projects all across the classroom, and everyone turns and somehow unanimously decide the best thing to do is to chant “Cry Baby”.

It’s a mess.

Hunk face palms, and Keith watches horror-struck as if in slow motion, as Juniper turns red, and then gets angry.

“I AM NOT.”

“ _CRY BABY; CRY BABY; CRY BABY_ ”

Juniper heaves in a shaking, furious breath, grabs the large pair of safety scissors next to her.

And well… Keith’s head gets an awful lot lighter in that next instant.

He jolts, hand rising distantly- as if by someone else’s command- to the back of his head where till two seconds ago he had a _full_ _ponytail of too-long hair_ and there’s nothing but air.

The class is suddenly deathly quiet, and Hunk is aghast; Keith’s too numb to feel, otherwise he probably would be too.

Juniper takes that moment to throw the scissors viciously to the ground, and proclaim at full volume. “Who’s the _crybaby_ now?! Who wants to go next, huh?! Huh?!”

Surprisingly, there are no takers.

Keith just drops his face into his hands, and breathes.

Yeah, no. Never mind. _Fuck Shiro_.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I struggle with levity, and humour on paper, as its not my usual genre of writing. I'm told i'm funny, but somehow it just... didn't really feel like i succeeded. i tried really hard though so If i'm wrong, and you enjoyed it or you laughed or felt anything at all (like im trying too hard maybe? ._.) please feel free to leave feedback/ constructive crit. I'll adore you forever.
> 
> Also, forever a fan of surprise haircuts. HMU on tumblr @theincrediblesulkmachine

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for sticking around; please do let me know how you feel. If you want to see more of this AU, do tell me as even one liners in the comments section go a long way in keeping writers motivated, and getting them through massive horrible bouts of block.
> 
> Say hello on tumblr [@theincrediblesulkmachine](http://theincrediblesulkmachine.tumblr.com) if you want.


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